


Nobody Said It Was Easy

by heroami



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Langst, M/M, Minor Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Minor OC - Freeform, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, X2, everyone else is mentioned - Freeform, klangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroami/pseuds/heroami
Summary: Though the music is a welcome distraction, Keith’s mind still whirls, almost painfully, and as he drives, he can't help but remember.Lance's laughter against his chest as he pulled him close after spinning him one too many times.The shy glances as the music changed and they drew closer in response.The small, hopeful smile playing on Lance's lips as he leaned in even closer.His breath catching in his chest as royal blue eyes flicker from his own, down to his lips and back up again, the question clear as day.





	Nobody Said It Was Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Getting back into the whole writing thing after a many year hiatus. Hopefully this will be the first of many. Please feel free to leave notes and critiques!

It was far too early on a Friday night for Keith to be in bed and his body was simply not having it. Groaning in frustration, he turned over and shoved his face into the pillow, willing himself to fall asleep, even if by means of suffocation.

Behind him, his phone chirps with what must have been the fiftieth text in the last hour. He bitterly wonders who the latest message was from: Allura? Pidge? Hunk?

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, the phone begins to ring and ‘Waiting for Superman’ plays, too loud. It echoes in the otherwise silent room, in the otherwise silent house. Loud. Far too loud. He grits his teeth, waiting for the designated ringtone to end, and sighs in relief when it does. That was, what? Call number four? Maybe five? Either way, he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with Shiro or his annoying habit of trying to fix everything for him.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if there was anything left to fix.

When his phone chirps _again_ , he roars in frustration, flipping over and reaching for the damned thing resting on his nightstand and turning it on silent, not even looking at the messages. Didn’t they get he wanted to be _alone?_

Flopping back onto his bed, he glares up at the dark ceiling, watching the headlights from passing cars dance across it through his window before disappearing and plunging him into darkness once more. His eyes tract the motion for what feels like eons. It was mind numbing, but it still wasn’t enough.

Tonight should have been easy, he laments silently. It was just a dance he was attending, with his closest friends none the less. Nothing life changing.

Or so he thought.

He figures he should have known something was up. Allura had been far to giddy about the entire affair – which, for her, was saying something -  and Hunk was oozing with an excitement he had suspected had to nothing to do with his date with Shay. Lance had been particularly on edge tonight as well, which should have been the biggest indicator; he usually lived for school dances.

He had figured it was because of the sudden increase of teasing on the others’ (read: Pidge’s) part. While Keith was no stranger to jokes about him and Lance acting married, he had to admit the sudden frequency of them over the last few weeks had been making him as uncomfortable as it seemed to make Lance. Like, so what if he went to all Lance’s swim meets and he came to all Keith’s karate tournaments? That’s what friends _do_. And their fluidity on the soccer field? That came with hard work, and, admittedly, their overcompetitive nature regarding one another. They made a good team, he supposes, much like a married couple should, and while he was willing to accept the teasing backlash from his friends for that to an extent, these was a point where too much is too much.

But the dance was meant to be fun, or so his friends had insisted, so he foolishly brushed all the red flags aside.

His first mistake of the evening.

‘Wouldn’t have mattered anyway,’ Keith thinks dully. ‘It’s not like I would have ever in a million years guessed Lance was planning on confessing to me of all people tonight.’

It had been so well planned too: drawing him out onto the floor with the rest of their friends while they danced like fools, only to have the group dissipate as the string of upbeat pop songs transitioned into a slow song. Not any slow song though, but his _favorite_ love song from his _favorite_ movie. A move that was so sappy that it could have only been pulled by Lance.

He presses his face into the pillow as the tune drifts through his head for what must have been the millionth time that evening.

Maybe if he could replace it with another song…?

He blindly reaches for his phone and headphones, only to jump out of his skin when the screen suddenly lights up with a call.

Composing himself (as much as he could given the circumstances), Keith slumps against the headboard and blearily blinks down at the screen.

The call was coming from Lance’s house. But at 1:30 in the morning? He couldn’t imagine Lance wanting to talk to him again so soon – if ever – after the stunt he pulled tonight. This couldn’t be good.

He quickly accepts the call and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Keith?”

“Alicia?”

“Oh, thank God I was able to get a hold of you!” The youngest of the McClain clan breathed, though her relief was still tinged with a tangible anxiety that makes Keith’s stomach churn in trepidation.  

“What’s wrong?”

“Have you seen Lance?”

“What do you mean ‘have I seen Lance’?”

“I mean, have you seen Lance?” Alicia snapped, the anxiety Keith heard before quickly becoming hysterics. “He promised he would be home by midnight, but now its passed one and I haven’t heard from him all night, and his phone is off so it’s not like I can track him. The car’s still gone and our parents are out of town and I’m home alone and I don’t know where he is. I called Hunk and the others but they didn’t know either! Please, _please_ tell me you do.”

“I… I don’t know.” He wracks his suddenly sluggish brain, as his chest constricts around his heart and lungs. Then, it occurred to him. Keith knew _exactly_ where he was. “But, I have a good idea. Give me a half hour.” He hangs up without waiting for a response.

He rolls out of bed, digging his shoes out from under the bed and pulling a nearby jacket on, before immediately tearing it off once he recognized the olive sleeves and the faint cologne that still clung to the collar.  

Damn him for leaving his things everywhere.

Pulling a safer jacket out of his closet, he grabs his keys and phone before heading out the door, paying no mind to the amount of noise he made as he left, despite the late – or was it early? - hour. It’s not like his foster parents cared much anyway.

The radio in his rickety old car comes to life as he’s pulling out of the driveway. He slams on the breaks when he registers the soft melody and turns it off with much more force then was strictly necessary. _That song_. It couldn’t leave him alone tonight, could it? He rests his head against the steering wheel, takes a deep breath, chanting ‘patience yields focus’, until he finds the strength to sit back up and continues pulling out. He doesn’t make it far until the silence becomes deafening and he turns the radio back on, quickly changing it to another station where he’s certain _that_ song will never be played.

Though the music is a welcome distraction, Keith’s mind still whirls, almost painfully, and as he drives, he can't help but remember.

_Lance's laughter against his chest as he pulled him close after spinning him one too many times._

_The shy glances as the music changed and they drew closer in response._

_The small, hopeful smile playing on Lance's lips as he leaned in even closer._

_His breath catching in his chest as royal blue eyes flicker from his own, down to his lips and back up again, the question clear as day._

*******

He finds Lance exactly where he expects him to be: in 'their' spot, a field just outside of town where the light pollution faded and you could see the stars for miles and miles.

He’s parked in the middle of the field, sitting on the hood of his car, the one they had spent countless hours on the summer before to get it ready to show off in the school parking lot. Lance had complained incessantly about the grease staining his fingers and somehow managed to smudge some across his temple, which he complained about too when Keith pointed it out.

Keith pulls up next to him, kills the engine and headlights, before sitting back in his seat and gazing at him through the window. He's still wearing the light blue button down and black slacks that he had worn earlier that night. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which Keith knows his mom will scold him for later - the wrinkles - and his black tie undone and hanging limply around his neck. There's a bottle of liquor dangling loosely in his fingers.

He shoots Alicia a quick text before getting out. Lance glances up at him as he approaches but doesn't say anything. He looks back up at the stars instead. The fact that the brunet hadn’t snapped at Keith on sight was oddly comforting, and he feels hope flicker and coil warmly in his stomach. Then again, Lance had always been quiet and somber when drunk, almost introspective, which was so opposing his usual bright and bubbly personality that it still surprised Keith. It scared him a bit too, seeming to suggest a sadness that he knows Lance doesn't want to address. 

He slides onto the hood and settles next to him, careful to keep several inches between them.

They sit for a while, just quiet. At one point, Lance offers him the bottle of whiskey, the one they had blackmailed one of his older brothers into buying for them and had been saving for graduation night, which Keith accepts but ends up just holding, fingers clenched around the base of its neck. He traces the constellations with his eyes, remembering the telescope he kept in his trunk for clear nights such as this. He pushes the intrusive thought aside.

After another stretch of suffocating silence, Lance sighs, “I'm sorry.” 

Keith takes a long swig from the bottle at that, trying to wash away the memories that push their way to the front of his mind.

_Lance's breath fanning out against his lips, of him thinking that it would be easy - so, so easy - to lean forward and just accept it. Instead, he makes his second mistake of the night by of glancing over Lance's shoulder, only for a moment._

_But a moment is all it took._

_He sees Shiro nearby, dancing with Allura, turned so they can both watch them like hawks. Like they were planning this._

_Shiro, his oldest friend, the one constant in his less-than-stellar childhood. Shiro, who told the absolute worst dad jokes, who had a secret Starbucks addiction and who consistently recited the script of whatever movie they were watching in time with the actual actors, purely to annoy him. Shiro, who still had debilitating flashbacks from his accident a year ago, who was still getting used to his prosthetic and its limitations, and who remained strong and smiled brightly through it all. Shiro, who made his heart pound and made it hard to focus._

_Shiro, who was so hopelessly in love with Allura - beautiful, kind, perfect Allura - it physically hurt him. Shiro, who deserved all the happiness in the world._

_And Shiro, who meets his eye over Lance’s shoulder, who raises an eyebrow and flashes him an encouraging smile as if to say 'Well? Get on with it.'_

_And..._

_And he_ can’t.

_It wouldn't be fair to him._

_It wouldn't be fair to Lance._

_So, he pulls away._

_He leaves Lance there in the middle of the dance floor, eyes glued to his feet so he wouldn't have to see anyone's (his, especially his) reaction as he fled the gym._

_His final mistake._

_Strike three._

_Game over._

Keith forces himself back into the present – back to the empty field under the stars, with the boy whose heart he broke just hours before.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Keith whispered. 

Lance shakes his head. “I knew. On some level, I knew. I had just hoped... since things happened with Allura... but I guess...” He trails off and looks at him a bit helplessly, dark blue eyes a bit unfocused yet intent. Searching.

“Yeah.” It doesn't surprise him that Lance's figured him out. He was always too smart for his own good, though he tried to hide it sometimes. 

“So, I’m sorry.”

“There's nothing you can do about it. What's done is done.”

They sit in silence for a long time, passing what remains of the bottle between them, as the sun begins to creep over the horizon. 

“Can we...are we...” his words are slurring together now, from exhaustion or drunkenness, Keith's not sure. “Are we still good? Like, you don’t hate me for… things?”

He snaps his head around to look at Lance so quickly that he has to brace himself against the car until the dizziness subsides. “Yes!” He yelps, then processes what exactly was said. “Wait – no! I mean,” he groans, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his head in the cradle they created.

Why was this all suddenly so hard? This was still Lance, wasn’t it? They had had conversations much deeper than this before.

 _But your entire relationship was never on the line before_ , a small voice reminds him grimly. And it was, wasn’t it? He hadn’t handled things properly and put their entire friendship in jeopardy. Now things were being held together by a whiskey soaked thread. But he sounded like wanted to be friends still – you don’t ask if everything was okay like that if you didn’t want to still be friends, right? Because Keith certainly wanted him to be. He needed Lance in his life of that much he was certain. But, God, what would he do if he didn’t? He and their group of friends was the best thing in Keith’s life and if he lost any single part of that he wasn’t sure that -.    

He hears Lance chuckle next to him, apparently amused by his twisted tongue and internal torture – that jerk -  and it’s easier to breathe.

“I don’t hate you,” he says slowly, face still pressed into his knees. “I could never hate you.” He turns his head slightly and chances a glance in Lance’s direction. “You’re one of my best friends.”

“Okay. Good.” Lance nods, and continues to nod as he continues to speak. “Awesome. That’s really, really awesome. ‘Cause, you’re mine. One of mine. Friend. Ssss. Friends. Best friends. One of my best friends. Yeah, that.”

Keith feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “You’re rambling,” he notes.

“Shaddup,” the brunet huffs, tilting his head back and taking a large gulp of whiskey. He sits for another moment, before turning slightly, shuffling slightly closer and offering Keith the bottle like an olive branch. “Can we just, I dunno, pretend like this whole night never happened?”

Keith regards him for a moment, before retreating fully from his knee-haven. He accepts the whiskey once more, swirling the bronze liquid idly. “If you want.”

“Very much so.”

He hums his ascent and drains what's left of the bottle. It burns going down. 

The light starts to wash over them, and Lance lists sideways into Keith, head nuzzling into the crook of his neck, finally overcome by the late night and booze. The movement was familiar, as was the warmth of Lance's side pressed against his own. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that this was just another normal night for them. Lance’s breathing evens out, and Keith hopes he’s finally fallen asleep.  

He looks down at one of his closest friends - whose smile was brighter than the sun and whose laugh was just so damn infectious. Who cared far too much about what other people thought of him for his own good and didn't think as highly of himself as he would leave you to believe. Who was loyal to a fault. Who wanted nothing more in life then to explore the cosmos, yet would sit there and debate with Keith for hours about the validity of aliens and life beyond Earth. Who was such a sappy romantic sometimes it made Keith queasy. Who constantly stole Keith’s favorite sweatshirts and left a collection of his own in his room. Who was so right for him in so many ways. Who would lock up whatever feelings he had tonight (and for him) and throw away the key. Who would sit by silently as he pined helplessly for another and offer comfort when needed. Whose only crime was loving him too much.

His chest clenches painfully and his throat begins to burn in a different kind of way.

It would be easy. So, so _easy._  

Keith bites back a sob, and presses his face into Lance's hair.

“I'm so sorry.”

“I know.”


End file.
